


Sympathy For Sammy

by Jamaican Princess (Rocquellan)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Coda, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Episode: s05e01 Sympathy for the Devil, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:49:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rocquellan/pseuds/Jamaican%20Princess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam knew he deserved whatever Dean dished out after he singlehandedly released Lucifer from hell. But not trusting him anymore? That's worse than putting a bullet right through his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sympathy For Sammy

**Author's Note:**

> The end of this episode have always been so heartbreaking for me. I'm not sure what happened that night after they drove away from the hospital, but I imagined it might be something like this. Hopefully it's not too OOC and enjoy :)

_“Is there something you want to say to me?”_

_“I tried, Sammy. I mean, I really tried. But I just can’t keep pretending that everything’s all right. Because it’s not. And it’s never going to be. You chose a demon over your own brother...and look what happened.”_

_“I would give anything_ -anything- _to take it all back...”_

_“I know you would, and I know how sorry you are. I do. But man...you are the one that I depended on the most, and you let me down in ways I can’t even...I’m just-I’m having a hard time forgiving and forgetting here. You know?”_

_“What can I do?”_

_“Honestly? Nothing. I just don’t think we could ever be what we were, you know?...I just don’t think I can trust you.”_

The car ride was as tense as a too tight choke hold around his neck. Nothing was the same, would never be again because Dean said so.

Dean, his big brother; the only family that really mattered in the grander scheme of things, didn’t trust him anymore.

Sam felt the end of the world on scale that seemed like a nuke hitting its target. He felt it harder than when he saw the light bursting forth from Lucifer’s cage. Dean’s words impacted him stronger than the sight of seeing the devil being freed from his prison, unleashed on the world.

This pain was so, _so_ much worse. 

The car moved along the street, the chug of the impala’s engine so familiar and at the same time eerily strange, like it was cursing his existence also. Bobby was in the hospital, Castiel took off to find God and Dean...

No amount of sorry could fix this. Dean was right.

Sam huddled in the shotgun seat of the impala like he was all of five years old; knees pulled close to his chest, fingers cold and clammy, body trembling, heart hammering. His head was cradled by the cool windshield, casting freckle-like shadows that stretched and danced across his face every time they passed a yellow street lamp.

Maybe Dean would get rid of him now? Sam was sorry, so fucking sorry but Dean’s cup was full. There was no more room for Sam’s contrition anymore. Sam was on his own.

_“Listen to me, you blood sucking freak...”_

No words were spoken, nothing said; nothing done, except the ringing of all of Dean’s spiteful words in his ears, stabbing at his brain and his heart. Sam wanted to talk, wanted to drill into Dean’s head where he went wrong. Why it went wrong, why that hurtful phone call when he was ready to change his mind just shoved him over the edge. But Dean didn’t want to have anything to do with him right now. He was sure this was what dad had told Dean about. Because even dad knew, had warned Dean but Dean didn’t listen and look what happened.

_If you can’t save Sam, you might have to kill him...”_

Those words came right back to haunt Sam Winchester.

...

Dean didn’t say anything, but Sam knew he was taking some sort of detour. When they pulled up to the drive-through of a local burger joint, Sam just sat there and fidgeted with his fingers, waiting impatiently for the other shoe to drop. But Dean didn’t look at him, didn’t pay him the least bit of mind and when the single meal bag got in the car and the smell wafted to Sam’s nose, he was reminded in a gut clenching kind of way that he was in fact hungry. The demon blood was out of system, so to speak, so his stomach functioned on a normal level now. And right now, it was growling something fierce for some sustenance.

Dean didn’t utter a word as the impala lurched out of the drive-through, heading towards their motel.

If Dean wanted him to eat, Sam was sure his big brother would have gotten him something. He was afraid to ask. He tried very hard to stamp down on the need to ask Dean for some food when his brother started to eat mindlessly. He’d never had to ask Dean for anything. Big brother knew him better than he knew himself most times and this was just undeniable proof that Dean was done with him.

Dean didn’t care anymore.

When the impala pulled into the parking lot of their current motel, Sam stood to the side while Dean got the bags, felt another slice of pain to his heart when Dean shoved him forward to walk before him, like he didn’t trust him to have his back.

_“...I just don’t think I can trust you anymore.”_

Sam felt hot, cold, depressed and miserable. He was at a loss as to what to do with himself in such an enclosed space alone with Dean. He felt claustrophobic, but knew there was no way Dean would let him out of his sight for even a second. What if he went and did something to let Dean down again? 

What could be a more monumental fuck up than releasing the devil, though? Or trusting -fucking, and getting his head fucked with- a demon his brother had repeatedly tried to tell him was bad news? What could be worse than spitting on Dean’s pride and shitting on his love?

What could ever be worse than the mass of flesh and bone and blood -demonic blood- that was Sam Winchester? 

Sam jumped, startled when Dean slammed the bags down on the bed. Dean’s bed. He wasn’t thrown his duffel like usual, like Dean didn’t trust him with his weapons. He didn’t trust him with his own clothes.

“De...”

“Take a bath.”

Dean’s words were cold, his voice hard and Sam shuddered at the sound of it. Something reserved for the monster of the week being thrown at him. He didn’t answer though, didn’t open his mouth but walked as small as he could to the bathroom, left the door ajar, because he was sure if he tried to close it Dean would break it down, and peeled out of his day old clothes before climbing into the shower. When he got out, there were sleeping pants and a t-shirt on the toilet. The toothpaste was already on the toothbrush and the cup by the sink already full of water.

Dean didn’t trust him to brush his own teeth without fucking it up. He deserved that. Deserved it and so much more.

When Sam exited the bathroom, feeling like a man being led to the gas chamber, he noticed Dean just sat on his bed, nursing a beer and looking at nothing in particular. Gingerly, Sam made his way over to his bed and pulled back the sheets, not knowing what to expect. Those green eyes were glassy and hard from the light of the lamp. Unforgiving. Sam wanted space, he wanted to be anywhere but under the scrutinizing eyes of his big brother but knew better. Dean would have his way whether Sam liked it or not. No room for subterfuge. Not even for talking. Sam owed his brother that much.

In the quiet of the room Sam’s stomach rumbled loud enough for his brother to hear, but Dean kept his eyes studiously locked on whatever and Sam bit his bottom lip nervously, wondering if it was alright to ask for something. He was so hungry it was painful.

A biscuit. Some juice. Maybe even a cracker.

“De...”

“Go to sleep, Sam!” Dean’s voice boomed like thunder before he slapped the beer bottle on the nightstand, the sound loud and frightening.

Sam recoiled like he’d been shot, burying his head in his knees and keeping his eyes closed, feeling the hot burn of oncoming tears. Dean had never been so close but felt so far away. Not even with states between them when he went to Stanford, or miles when he ran away to Six Flags.

It was too much. Far too much and the fear left him numb, trembling. Dean.

Dean walked to the kitchenette, grabbed a beer from the mini-fridge and then walked back to the bed. Dean kept his back to him while he tipped his head back and chugged the beer. Sam flinched when Dean threw the bottle against the wall, which caused it to shatter into thousands of little peice. 

It scared Sam.

Dean was panting, fighting for control of his emotions and Sam wanted to say something, do anything to placate his big brother. He’d put his head on a chopping block if that’s what Dean needed. _I’m so sorry._

Dean left to the kitchenette again, opened the cupboard and started drinking, came back in with a half empty bottle of Jack a minute later and Sam just watched him. Waited for his punishment, because Winchesters and alcohol had always been a bad combination for anybody on their hit list.

Dean fastidiously kept his back to Sam, so it was a surprise when his brother started talking, hard and low, voice rough with hurt. “You know, I heard you in the motel room, fucking Ruby, right before you punched me in the fucking face for her. Made me sick to my stomach what you were doing with her. Kept wondering why you were so blind to her _charms_ , because demon blood? You couldn’t see how _fucked_ you were? But it’s a thing with you, ain’t it, Sam? It’s like your dick know your kind, ya know? No matter what I do you just...”

The tears chose then to flow even more freely than normal. There was no holding it back. Sam was crushed. It was true. He fucked monsters. He was a fucking monster. “I’m...”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, SAM!” Dean screamed before dropping the bottle, stalking over to Sam, who backed up into the wall, ready for the worst. He cried out in pain when Dean grabbed a patch of hair roughly before hitting his head against the wall hard enough for him to hear the crack, see stars. He bit his bottom lip when Dean kept a too tight grip on his hair while the index finger from the other hand pointed menacingly in his face.

“Don’t talk Sam, Don’t talk or I’ll break your fucking face in two, alright?”

Sam gulped, lips trembling and he nodded.

“Good, good,” Dean muttered while he smoothed a hand over Sam’s head, checking to make sure the injury he’d created wasn’t too bad while the other hand’s thumb smoothed tears from Sam’s cheeks.

“Now, you’re going to get under the cover, go to sleep and never utter a word until I say so, not even in dream because Sam, I want to beat the shit out of you so bad right now. So don’t speak, don’t talk, don’t even _breathe_ for me to hear. Ok? Alright, Sam?”

Sam nodded, slid down until he was under the covers, shaking while Dean tucked him in.

“Good. Fine.” Dean went back to his own bed, sat on it, then shut the lamp off with a tug at the string that nearly damaged the thing, plunging the room into darkness and leaving Sam alone with the tears that flowed in conjunction with the beating of his frail heart.

Bobby said he forgave Sam, maybe Castiel does too, but right now all Sam wanted was forgiveness from God.

But most of all, he wanted it from Dean.


End file.
